


T-shirts

by Liondragon (Sameshima_Shuzumi)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Clothing Kink, Collection: Fandom Stocking 2014, Comment Fic, M/M, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5320553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sameshima_Shuzumi/pseuds/Liondragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon makes a special requisition. <em>A fandom_stocking stuffer.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	T-shirts

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 1 January 2015 for vexed_wench. Thanks too to tarlanx for the comment!

Ronon monopolizes the first shipment from Stargate Command, partly because he has tacit permission from Sheppard, and mostly because who would dare countermand Ronon? He doesn't get into the foodstuffs; he can stretch rations like any good Satedan warrior. He sorts through the crates of dry goods until he finds the one he's looking for.

Rodney is always telling him to be more scientific. So he tries it. It's basically scouting and assessing except it takes longer. Ronon goes three missions and an infirmary stay before he's ready with the results. This science thing takes too long, but Ronon is unswerving in his purpose.

Rodney stumbles into his quarters and nearly sleeps on top of a pile of t-shirts, newly laundered. He's too sleepy to question why.

It's when Ronon insists on switching from his left to his right side during a mission that Rodney begins to think something's up. "What the hell?"

Teyla tramps past them, the small grin on her face telling Rodney that he's not imagining it.

Ronon just looks at him until he turns back to his tablet, grumbling under his breath. A moment later, Rodney's boot catches a slick spot, slips— and every layer of clothing on his shoulders catches as he's unceremoniously picked up off his feet and then placed back down on solid ground. 

At the rear, Sheppard swallows a guffaw which translates to 'Hah, again?' 

Though Rodney will not discover the discarded pile of ripped t-shirts for some weeks, he is quick on the uptake. "You—!"

Ronon tucks the fabric tag back under Rodney's collar, wearing a grin like a satisfied predator. "My other arm needs the work."

On Lorne's desk is a requisition form for a dozen more of the same shirt.

  
   
   
 


End file.
